Wednesday's Child
by dragonflybeach
Summary: Sequel to my story Drawing the Line. When the adrenaline wears off, the Winchester men realize how much what happened frightened both of them. Trigger warning - domestic violence.


A/N - this is the sequel to my story Drawing the Line. Things might make more sense if you read that first, but I think you can follow well enough without if you don't want to read it.

* * *

The first two and a half hours passed in haze.

Ice on Sammy's cheek for fifteen minutes. Off for thirty. Vinegar dabbed on in between to reduce the bruising, because dammit the kid's gotta go to school Monday and the last thing they need is for a concerned teacher to ask questions. Checking shins that were scuffed when Dad knocked Sammy off his feet. Worrying for a few minutes that the cheekbone may be broken before finally deciding that if anything is fractured, it's not displaced and there's not much an actual doctor could do for it.

Making Sammy recite the alphabet, forwards and backwards. Making sure the kid isn't nauseous. Asking how many fingers Dean is holding up every so often until it's safe to assume Sammy doesn't have a concussion.

Dean makes Sam drink some water and tries to feed him a snack, but there's nothing in the nearly bare pantry or fridge that Sam wants, and Dean isn't about to leave him to go pick up anything.

Sam's eyes are drooping and Dean frets at first, until he notices that it's nearly half an hour past the kid's usual bedtime. He takes his own pillow as well as Sam's, folding both of them in half and propping Sam's head and chest at nearly a 30 degree angle. Keeping his head elevated will help relieve the puffiness in his face as well as help him to breathe if internal swelling in his nasal passages becomes an issue.

Dean turns the light off and leans against the doorframe until Sammy's breathing evens out into the rhythm of sleep, and then steps closer to the bed to watch him for just a little longer. Finally satisfied that Sam will be all right, Dean steps out of the bedroom.

He walked to the kitchen and drank a glass of water, his hands starting to shake as the adrenaline subsides.

A shadow fell across the cracked countertop, and Dean turned to find his father in the doorway. John's eyes are slightly hazy, his movements faintly faltering, and Dean knows the man has been drinking steadily since what happened earlier, most likely something significantly stronger than beer.

"'M sorry," John slurred, his face crumbling. "I hurt Sammy." He looked up at Dean with tears in his eyes. "I hurt you so many times. Next time, pull the damn trigger."

Shock slammed into Dean's gut with enough force to take his breath away.

He could have killed his father tonight.

"No!" he snapped, lurching forward.

John drew in a breath sharply, his eyes widening in fear. But he didn't move. He stood his ground and waited for Dean to come at him.

"Dad, don't say things like that!" Dean nearly wailed, his hands clutching at the front of his father's shirt.

John shook his head, two tears rolling down his cheeks. "You should be going to the prom and getting ready for graduation, not beating some old drunk off your baby brother."

Dean shook his dad desperately. "Dad, you didn't mean it. You were just angry and you had a coupla too many beers. You didn't mean ... "

"Dean!" his father shouted, the voice sounding more pitiful than fearsome. "The next time I hit Sammy, the next time I hit _you,_ pull the fucking trigger! You'll be better off. We'll all be better off!"

John yanked himself out of Dean's grip, stumbling down the hall. He turned at his own bedroom doorway and looked at Dean one more time. "All better off." he muttered before slamming the door behind him.

Dean's knees suddenly felt weak, and he slid down the wall until to sit on the floor, shuddering.

His own father, six foot two inches and two hundred twenty pounds of honed steel wrapped in razor wire with Marine Corps hand-to-hand combat training, had been afraid of him.

His own father thought Dean could kill him.

His own father wanted Dean to kill him.

Dean had been dangerously close to doing exactly that, when he thought his father was a threat to Sammy.

What would he do without Dad?

Dad and Sammy were all he had. How could he lose one of them?

Dean's body shook so hard his teeth chattered.

He didn't know how long he sat just outside the kitchen door with those thoughts running through his head before the thoughts all congealed into one word.

_Sammy._

Dean finally pushes himself to his feet, his muscles twinging where he had been sitting motionless for too long. He clambered just as gracelessly as his father had, despite the fact Dean was sober.

A fact he intended to fix, pausing as he reached the battered end table next to his father's recliner which was in even sadder shape, and picked up the bottle his father had left, drinking the rest.

It was probably about two shots' worth, and the burn of the cheap whiskey made him flinch, but it smoothed out into a dull warmth by the time it reached his belly.

He continued to the shared second bedroom, where Sammy slept peacefully. If the shouting had awakened him, Dean couldn't tell now.

Dean pulled off his shoes and shimmied out of his jeans, carefully getting on the bed not to disturb his little brother. He scooted as close as he dared, barely touching Sam's arm, just enough to feel the warmth and comfort of being next to another person.

He would never kill his dad. If things ever got bad enough that Dean was honestly afraid Dad would hurt Sammy, Dean would just take Sammy and leave. He wouldn't hurt Dad.

The thought of leaving Dad was frightening enough. It would never happen unless Dean was certain there was just no other way.

He knew Dad didn't mean it, when he got angry and shouted and sometimes spoke with his fists instead of words. It didn't happen often, which meant if Dean just tried harder to do what his Dad expected and kept Sammy from upsetting Dad, it probably wouldn't happen at all.

If it ever did, and Dean had to take Sammy and leave, they would be ok. He would take care of Sammy like he had always done.

And Sammy would never leave Dean.

* * *

A/N II - The more I thought about it, the more I realized what that whole incident would do to Dean's head, and I couldn't just leave it there.


End file.
